I've Been Counting On A Reason (For A Little While)
by ItsTheFlyingSquirrel
Summary: This is it. She's made up her mind, and there's no turning back. This is the day that for better or for worse, she will finally get to see her again. (Spoilers up to 5x02)


**A/N: This originally started as a tumblr prompt, but I just got the urge to finish it in the midst of trying to finish writing the next chapter for Calling the Shots. For those who are at all still following Calling the Shots, first of all, I'm still working on it, I swear. Second of all, I'm so so sorry for the long wait, I've just had to figure some things out and I've been pretty busy lately, so the chapter just hasn't come into fruition. Hopefully I'll be getting that out real soon, if all goes as planned, and again, I am so sorry for the wait. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this incredibly cliché, first-attempt-at-canon one shot.  
Brittana forever ;)**

**Warnings: Small reference of S/O, though her name is never mentioned. Based somewhere around the time after 5x02.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or any of its characters. Because if I did, well...you'd definitely know.**

* * *

This is it. She's made up her mind, and there's no turning back. This is the day that for better or for worse, she will finally get to see her again.

Ever since she had called Kurt to see how the wedding plans were going with him and Blaine (though that was just a petty excuse for the real reason), Brittany had been frustrated and angry and frustrated some more.

Her phone call to Kurt is when she found out.

Santana was seeing someone. Someone _else_. Someone _other_ than Brittany. And it hurt her heart just thinking that she couldn't do anything about it. When she told Kurt as much, he literally yelled into the phone, rambling on about how 'you should never give up on true love' and 'it's never too late' and blah blah blah (she stopped listening after about 5 minutes). And yet, although Kurt can be a little weird and over the top sometimes, he sure is convincing when he wants to be.

So that's what leads her to now, standing on the Amtrak platform departing from Boston to New York on an early Saturday morning.

Because another thing Kurt is pretty good at? Helping Brittany make plans to get her girl back.

Unicorns really are the best.

* * *

Santana makes her way down the cracked and sun-faded sidewalk, still internally fuming at the guy at table 47 who gave her a tip made up entirely of pennies. Like seriously, who the fuck does that?

But she's really just looking forward to a nice night of reality T.V. on the couch with her favorite pair of pajamas while Kurt and Rachel are out at some weird NYADA group-bonding shindig. They invited her and everything, but like, _come on_. Seriously? Watch overly-dramatic college kids attempt to out-gay each other on an excessively enormous stage, or watch the real housewives of Atlanta duke it out by herself in the comfort of her own home? No contest.

Finally, Santana makes it to the large wooden door of the loft and finally she's able to relax. God, does singing while waiting tables take a lot out of you.

But when she enters the kitchen, instead of the empty table that is usually awaiting her, there's a small white envelope with her name written on it. In the handwriting of—no. It can't be. This wouldn't be the first time that Santana's falsely hoped, falsely believed, that something she had seen was _her's_. The blonde hair of a passer-by in Central Park, the furry dark blue duck hunting cap accidentally forgotten on the subway, the—no. She needs to stop.

But this time feels different from the others. She can't shake the feeling that this handwriting, the graceful flick of a wrist on the _S_, the perfectly straight cross of a _t_, is _her's_. And so Santana can't resist opening it (it's addressed to her after all).

And from the first sentence, she knows, _she knows_, it's from her.

_Santana,_

_Do you remember that time in kindergarten when we got to go out to the fields and we pretended we were fairies that had to pick all of the flowers on the grass before the evil queen could steal them? Then we wove them together to try to make a jump rope, but that didn't really work, did it?_ (At that, Santana can't help but smile; of course she remembers. She remembers that Brittany insisted that the flower stems would be perfect for weaving a jump rope. Yeah sure, Santana knew that the stems weren't strong enough, but she would be the last person on earth to tell Brittany that.) _But you still said we could do it, you tried to help me make it work. Because that's what we do San, we've always helped each other make things work. And I feel like there was this magnetic thread that attached and pulled us together that very first day of kindergarten, and it hasn't frayed since. I never told you this, but I kept one of those flowers. I used to hide it under my pillow and run it between my fingers when you weren't there. _(Santana is surprised by that confession; she kept one of the flowers, too. After all these years she was afraid that she'd sound like some weird-ass hoarder for keeping something so useless, but never has something felt as valuable as that flower in this instant.) _I still do. Those were some good times, San._ (At that, Santana slowly closes her eyes, taken back to the small giggles and bright suns of kindergarten spring.)

_And then that time in third grade when we went hiking on the hills behind your house and I tripped and scraped my knee? You were crying harder than I was. I was too young to realize it, but I know now, I know why you were crying when you saw I was hurt. It's because we're connected, San. You know what I'm feeling before I even get the chance to say it. And when I'm hurt, it' like a part of you is hurt. Same with me when you're hurt. Sometimes I think we could've done a better job of protecting each other, San, if we weren't so afraid of getting hurt._

_And remember when we were 14 and we both got accepted into McKinley High's cheerleading program? That summer was so fun. At camp, we got to make these friendship bracelets out of two different colors of string, do you remember that? And yours just came out as one big giant knot. You got so frustrated, and you kept on yelling at the camp leader for being such a horrible teacher. We were supposed to give those bracelets to a new friend we made at camp, but you were afraid that no one would want to be your friend because your bracelet 'looked like Ashley made it, and she's six years old!'. I don't think even my sister could have messed up a friendship bracelet that bad, San. (...just kidding ;) _(If anyone else were to make that comment, Santana would be sporting a scowl, offended by such an insult to her friendship-bracelet-making skills, but it's Brittany, so she just smiles and shakes her head.) _So rather than running the risk of not making friends for your lack of Girl Scouts training, you and I traded bracelets instead. I still have that little piece of knotted string, Santana. It's tied in a ring on my pinky as I write this. It's faded and frayed a little at the ends, but it's there. And I think it's kind of funny y'know? Even after all this time, I still have you wrapped around my little finger._ (Leave it to Brittany to say the damnedest things.)

_And now we come full circle._

_Remember junior year when you poured your heart out to me by the lockers, said the one thing we had both been waiting to hear since September of '09? _(The night that everything changed.)

_I love you Santana, with all my heart. We belong together. I just know it. I know you know it, too._

_And I don't care about the things that have come in between us since we last saw each other, all the people and jobs and miles that have gotten in the way to try and make us forget what we have—what we are. I don't care about any of that._

_I only care about one thing._

_You and me._

_So, Santana, I'm writing this letter because I really need to know:_

_Do you still love me like I still love you?_

Santana can't suppress the tear that slides down her cheek, or the way her heart thumps wildly in her chest. She's pretty sure she's having a heart attack (_the Brittany kind_).

She misses her. She misses all the memories and the kisses in the dark, the shy smiles, the small touches, the quick glances, the dancing and the singing—she misses falling in love, being in love.

And it's then that Santana realizes that nothing, nothing can begin to compare to Brittany. Not the fake thrill of another "attraction", nor the empty promise of happiness. Because true happiness? She's only ever felt that with Brittany.

Just then, she hears a soft version of her name being called from behind her, a sound of the present to bring her back from the past.

She turns around and she can't help the tiny hiccup that bubbles from throat. Because there's Brittany, standing right in front of her. Brittany with those confident cat-like eyes and that dazzling white smile (though as of right now, both hold a rare trace of hesitancy). Brittany with her golden hair and honeycomb eyelashes, shining like a beacon of light against the dark shadows of the room.

Before Santana's brain can catch up, her body is pushing forward and into the unsuspecting arms of her favorite person in the whole wide world.

They share their first embrace since the day Santana led her across the empty stage after Regionals back in Lima. That moment when she drove away Brittany's loneliness like the first rays of sun on glistening spring snow.

And the same happens now.

All those sleepless nights without phone calls of 'sweet dreams' and 'don't let the bedbugs bite', all those stupid classes that made no sense without the clarifying words of a friend, especially all of those sleepy Sunday mornings, cuddling up in her favorite plaid blanket (one of the only things of Santana's she let herself bring to MIT), all of it becomes worth it in this one embrace. Because now she's here, in this tiny loft in Bushwhick on a Saturday afternoon, and Brittany can't think of anywhere else she'd want to be.

For visiting a place she's never been before, it sure feels a lot like home.

And Santana can't help the rush of affection that bursts out of her as she begins to kiss all over Brittany's face, her lips pressing to the bridge of a pale, narrow nose, the curve of a fragile eyelid, the soft round of a rosy cheek.

"Yes," she breathes against thin lips, nodding her head and tightening her hold. "Yes, I do love you back, Britt. You're my best thing. Of course I love you."

At that, Brittany pulls away, her smile turning the biggest and brightest it's ever been.

"Good, because I love you too," she replies. "So much."

Brittany's plan worked. It _actually_ worked, and now she's right where she has dreamed of being, ever since she got on that plane to Boston so many weeks ago. She's right where she wants to be for the rest of her life, with the soothing rub of a palm against her back, and the steady thump-thump of a heartbeat pressed against her chest.

* * *

Minutes pass, and between them not a word is spoken. Instead, loving glances convey all that they need to say. They never really needed words anyway.

And just like that, the sun is setting through the kitchen window (there goes the sun), the orange glow receding from ocean blue eyes to be replaced with the twinkling lights of New York City. In Santana's mind, there's never been a more gorgeous sight. Images of white aprons and bar stools and acoustic guitars are replaced with Brittany, Brittany, Brittany.

Ever since graduation, people had been telling Santana that she needed to start a new chapter in her life, to do something different, something fresh and exciting, and that would lead her to happiness.

But what's in front of her right now? The one that has always made her feel different, yet surrounded her with beautiful familiarity at the same time? That's who she's going to be starting a new chapter with. (And the chapter after that, and the chapter after that.)

And honestly? She wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

**Title taken from States' "Falling For". Thanks for reading :)**


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